


put you through your paces

by imagines



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: (not conventional A/B/O), Biting, Canon Divergence, Canon What Canon, Explicit Consent, Fingering, Heat Fic, Kink Negotiation, Knotting, M/M, Power Dynamics, Room-sharing, Rough Sex, Slow Burn, Sparring, THERE WAS ONLY ONE BED, Teasing, garrison keitor, intergalactic diplomacy, started writing this pre-s6, wet dreams, you read that right
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-08
Updated: 2018-11-08
Packaged: 2019-08-20 18:27:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,647
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16560998
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/imagines/pseuds/imagines
Summary: Becoming  the bodyguard for the Galra emperor on a diplomatic visit to the Garrison? Piece of cake. Accidentally going into heat due to spending too much time with said emperor? Not so much. (In which Lotor asks for Keith’s help, and Keith gets a lot more trouble than he bargained for.)





	put you through your paces

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the [2018 Keitor Big Bang](keitorbigbang.tumblr.com), with art by [destimushi](https://destimushi.tumblr.com/)!
> 
> Endless gratitude to [propinquitous](http://http://propinquitous.tumblr.com/) for beta-reading and yelling thirsty encouragement at me to keep me going. :p

“Emperor Lotor has requested your presence to discuss a potential mission,” the messenger says. “My pod is waiting in the hangar. You may pack lightly; the emperor’s hospitality is generous.”

“Back up.” Keith shifts uncomfortably, aware that all of the Blades are staring at him, and that they won’t step in to speak for him. “What makes you think I’ll just drop everything and go with you?”

The messenger folds her arms. “He thought you would say that. He said if you did, to tell you he says ‘please’.”

“Oh, he says _please_ ,” Keith mutters. “That makes all the difference.”

Kolivan clears his throat. “May I inquire as to what the meeting regards? You’re asking me to spare an excellent fighter for an unexplained reason and an unknown length of time.”

“Emperor Lotor conveys his apologies, but he would prefer to speak with Keith privately before involving other individuals. The subject is of a sensitive nature.”

“What prevents him from simply contacting Keith by video feed?”

“Transmissions can be intercepted. This _must_ remain secret—even I have not been informed of the nature of the mission.”

Kolivan turns to Keith. “Do you wish to attend this meeting?”

Keith has to admit he’s curious. “Lotor has been working for months to help us achieve our goals. We have separate aims, but we’re not at odds. I’d like to find out what he wants.”

“Then you have permission to go.” Kolivan eyes the messenger. “But _you_ may inform the emperor that if any harm should come to Keith—”

“—We will prepare to be destroyed. The emperor is aware. Keith will be protected at all costs, I assure you.”

* * *

Upon their arrival at the docking platform of Lotor’s command ship, a short and incredibly fluffy Galra official is already waiting, hands folded behind his back. He reminds Keith distinctly of a Persian cat. “The emperor wants to see you immediately,” the official says, in an incongruous voice like a thin sharp whistling wind.

“Can’t I at least change or something?” Keith is pretty sure you’re supposed to freshen up a little before an audience with an emperor, but then again he’s never done this before. And his first encounter with Lotor face-to-face was when he threw Lotor down a staircase, so perhaps Lotor isn’t terribly concerned with propriety.

“The matter at hand is most pressing,” the official says, which Keith understands to mean “No.”

Heaving a sigh, Keith follows the official through violet-lit corridors, the messenger-pilot bringing up the rear. Every step takes him deeper into the belly of a slumbering beast, it seems, one that could easily awaken to devour him. He’s all too aware that he’s trapped between the two Galra, and only the weight of his blade against his hip provides comfort. The rational side of him believes in Lotor’s commitment to creating a peaceful universe, but the memories of constant warfare on ships just like this one have him on edge nonetheless.

They come to a pair of tall, broad doors inlaid with silver and carved with an inscription Keith can’t read. “His Highness, Emperor Lotor,” the official announces as he shoves open the doors and leads Keith into the throne room.

“Paladin,” Lotor says, his deep smooth voice echoing off the vaulted ceiling. “Come forward.” To Keith’s chaperones he adds, “You may leave us.” They bow, muttering _vrepit sa_ , and vanish through the doors, which swing shut with a boom.

Keith notes the distinct lack of guards as he walks down the long stretch of soft carpet leading to the dais on which Lotor is seated. The lack of _anyone_ else, actually, he realizes—the two of them are alone together. Lotor must be awfully certain that Keith won’t attack him.

When Keith nears the throne, Lotor rises and descends the steps to meet Keith on even ground. Or as even as it can be, given Lotor’s considerable advantage in height. No, not an _advantage_ , Keith thinks, frustrated; Lotor’s just really tall. Anyone could be.

“So you are the little Blade who saved my life,” Lotor says, in a way that gives Keith the distinct impression that he’s being looked over like a pastry in a bakery window.

He doesn’t have time to bristle at the comment on his size, though; Lotor is already moving on.

“I do not care to waste your time, so I shall get to the point. Earth has become aware of the Galra empire’s existence, and to hold off the possibility of an attack or attempted invasion, I have arranged a little diplomatic visit, to a location I believe you know well—the Galaxy Garrison?”

“Seems to me you should let Voltron and the Blades know about this.”

“And I will, but I wanted to avoid anyone getting their armor in a twist before I spoke with you.”

Keith narrows his eyes. “Why _did_ you wanna talk to me?”

“To put it simply: this excursion will not be without danger, and I need protection. Yet I hesitate to show up with a contingent of Galra soldiers—this would be your planet’s first contact with people from elsewhere in the universe. The first that they are aware of, anyway. And I would prefer to avoid mass panic, which brings me to my request. I would like you to go with me instead.”

“You’re asking me to be your _bodyguard_? Are you saying I’m worth several Galra soldiers?”

“You are worth that and more. Remember, I have seen you fight. And not only are you familiar with the planet, you know the people with whom I will be meeting. Being human, your presence may help to alleviate fears, and being Galra, the Empire’s citizens will be more inclined to trust you as my companion. I need more than a bodyguard, Paladin. I need an ambassador.”

Keith snorts. “You’re asking the wrong guy. The Garrison doesn’t like me, and I don’t like them. And I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but I don’t have much of a diplomatic nature.”

“I have noticed. You have not bowed to me yet, for instance.”

“You’re _an_ emperor. Doesn’t make you _my_ emperor.”

Lotor laughs, the sound ringing off the walls. “You are by far the most brutally honest person I’ve ever met. If you do not want to visit Earth, that is a choice you are free to make. But I would be honored to have you at my side.”

Keith is shown to a lavishly furnished room and left alone to mull over Lotor’s request. He can’t deny the idea of a trip to Earth appeals to him. And showing up at the Garrison in full Blade gear, as the protector of an alien emperor… well, he’d love to see Iverson’s face. He pulls out his holopad to call Kolivan and discuss the situation.

* * *

Ultimately it is decided that Keith will accompany Lotor to Earth, while Lotor’s command ship remains in orbit. The day before the mission is set to begin, Keith finally feels it sink in: not long from now, he’ll face the people who threw him out of the one place that had felt like home since his father died. The people who gave up on Shiro, and then gave up on Keith too. He doesn’t have a name for the exact emotion he’s feeling, but he’s gotta let off steam or he’ll blow up like Vesuvius.

“You got a training room or gym or something on this ship?” he asks Lotor at breakfast. The rest of the Galra present look at him in shock, which he’s getting used to since he insists on never addressing Lotor with the respect they believe befits an emperor. Well, they might think of it as respect; Keith thinks of it as inefficient. Besides, Lotor hasn’t told him to knock it off yet. He seems to like it, in fact.

“What kind of fighter do you take me to be?” Lotor pats his mouth with an embroidered napkin. “I did not become one of the best swordsmen in the empire by sitting on my rear in a throne all day. As soon as I acquired this ship, I made sure to install the finest training room my architects could imagine. What do you say to a little tour after our meal?”

Keith would have expected the task of showing him around to be passed off to an underling, but as in many other aspects of life, Lotor is a hands-on kind of guy. Keith isn’t sure he even knows the word _delegation._ Lotor delights in personally pointing out the features of the onboard gym, some of which Keith has to admit are impressive: gymnastics equipment, a massive climbing wall, and an anti-gravity option to do it all as if in space.

“Enjoy yourself,” Lotor tells him, and makes as if to leave.

“Wait.” Keith touches the hilt of his blade, thoughtful. “You ever spar?

“You ask if anyone ever tries to have a mock battle with the leader of the Empire?” Lotor’s smiling, yet there’s something in his eyes… a longing that Keith recognizes.

“Well, yeah. Why not?”

“No, paladin, not for a long time—not since well before the Kral Zera, when I had a team of close companions I trusted above all others. They were soldiers, yes, but also rather like friends. Much like your Voltron, I believe.”

“They’re not really _my_ Voltron now,” Keith starts to explain, crushing down the ache in his heart at the thought.

Lotor shakes his head. “They would have you back in a heartbeat. Once a paladin, always a paladin. You have a place with them forever, should you wish to return.”

Of course Keith wants to go back to them. Of course he misses his team. It’s just not possible right now, not with his other obligations. And not with the strange wall like a tangle of barbed wire that has sprung up between the team and him—theoretically possible to cross, but would mess him up bad if he tried. He doesn’t tell Lotor any of this. “I mean, do you wanna try a match with me?” Lotor’s eyes widen, and Keith catches the glint of a fang. He grins at Lotor. “Come on,” he tempts. “It’ll be fun. I’ll go easy on you, I promise.”

“Is that so?” Lotor glances at a rack on the wall filled with wooden staves, gleaming swords, and even a battle-axe. “I suppose I might enjoy putting you through your paces.” He runs his hand over the weapon hilts, settling on a longsword. He takes a ribbon from his pocket and ties up his hair, preparing to don a helmet.

Keith draws his blade, its energy building within him until it jolts out down his arm like lightning, his skin tingling from head to toe as it awakens. He pulls up the hood of his suit to protect his head.

“Shall we dance?” Lotor asks, that silky voice flooding Keith’s veins with shimmering heat.

“Dance?” Keith says. “Is that what the Galra call me kicking your ass?”

From behind Lotor’s helmet, Keith can hear him chuckling. “Such big words for such a small Blade.”

“Oh, _bite me_ ,” Keith snaps, and hurls himself at Lotor.

Lotor’s reach is unbelievable, but Keith can dart and strike quick as a rattlesnake, rolling himself underneath Lotor’s thrusts to slash at his legs, whirling out of range as soon as he makes contact. Soon he’s got Lotor limping from a swipe at his thigh with the flat of Keith’s blade, but Lotor is laughing nonetheless. “Who was your teacher?” he pants. “You impress me, little one!”

“No one you’d know,” Keith says. (His dad. Garrison swordmasters. Shiro. It makes his stomach hurt to think about it too long.) “You all right?”

“Never better.” And Lotor flings himself into the fray again.

Finally, Keith gets in a hit that sends Lotor’s sword flying, but Lotor lunges at him regardless and forces his arm behind his back, bending Keith’s wrist until he yowls and releases his blade. It clatters to the floor, resuming its smaller form. Keith twists in Lotor’s grip and manages to bring him to the floor. Even though Lotor gets the upper hand a couple of times, it still ends with Keith pinning him. “Yield,” Keith orders, but Lotor just stares up at him, silent. Lotor’s breathing hard, and the color in his cheeks has deepened. He’s looking at Keith as if he’s seeing something wondrous, special, unique… Keith frowns, pressing down harder on Lotor’s wrists. “ _Yield_ ,” he repeats, and this time Lotor taps the floor at his side.

“I yield,” Lotor says in a low voice.

Keith rolls off him and gets to his feet, holding out a hand. “Good match,” he says.

Lotor allows Keith to pull him to his feet. He holds Keith’s hand just a beat long enough to make it a little weird, then drops it and clears his throat. “You fight beautifully—it’s my pleasure to be bested by one like you.”

Keith busies himself sheathing his blade just so. “It’s just sparring,” he mutters. “No big deal.”

“I enjoy simple pleasures when I find them,” Lotor says. “Are you sore at all? There’s a heated pool, if you have need of it. We supply it with water from the springs of Elazary Six—it contains rare minerals that promote healing and relaxation.”

Keith only needed to hear the words _heated pool_. “Lead the way.”

The term _pool_ , as it turns out, is quite the understatement. Keith gasps when Lotor leads him into a enormous triangular room: a series of interconnected pools spreads out before him, some with steam rising off the water and others with still, clear water that must be colder. There’s a small one filled with dramatically bubbling water, and a very long one with waves crashing against a tiny sand beach like an ocean in miniature. And the _view_ —on two sides the room is enclosed by soft-lit white brick walls, with pillars placed along the walkways to brace the ceiling. The third side is a giant curved window with the black void of space in full view. “The window can be darkened for privacy when we’re on the ground, but otherwise—” Lotor shrugs. “No one’s out there to see inside. Have you ever watched the swirling clouds of a nebula, soaking away all your pains and sorrows as new stars are given life?”

“Can’t say I have.” Keith turns to Lotor, who is—stripping, awfully straightforwardly. He jerks his gaze back to the pools, taking a deep breath. When in Rome, right? He unhooks the clasp at the collar of his suit and peels it down his body, pausing at his waist. Lotor has already gotten into one of the deeper hot pools and is up to his neck, eyes closed in contentment. Keith shoves his suit the rest of the way down and steps out of it, folds it neatly, and splashes into the pool to join Lotor. Once the water covers him, he relaxes slightly.

Lotor opens one eye. “In a hurry?”

Keith chooses not to respond to that. He folds his arms tightly over his chest. “Anyone ever tell you that you trust people awfully quick?”

“Were you planning to kill me while we’re naked in the pool?”

“No!” Keith glares at him. “Just—you barely know me, but you want me to go with you to Earth, and you sparred with me, and now this—” He doesn’t know how to explain what he means, and falls silent.

“Ahh. You mean, I have been repeatedly placing myself in positions of vulnerability with you, and you want to know why.”

“Something like that, I guess.”

“I imagine the simplest explanation is, you’ve already proven to me that if I am left open to attack, you will make certain I remain safe. Who better to trust than a man who would endanger himself before seeing me harmed?”

Keith had been wondering when _that_ would come up.

“That reminds me, I’ve never thanked you properly.” Lotor’s moving closer, water rippling around his torso, and Keith’s mouth goes dry. Droplets make lazy trails down Lotor’s chest, and his hair clings to his skin. He stops only a couple of feet away. “Paladin, why are you blushing?” he asks, deadpan; yet Keith suspects Lotor knows exactly what he’s doing. He’s ten thousand years old, not a child.

If Lotor wants to play it like he doesn’t know what’s going on, Keith can give as good as he gets. “No reason. Why are you standing so close?”

“How else can I express my gratitude?” Lotor reaches out one slender, deadly fingertip, and brushes the tip of a claw down Keith’s jaw.

[[full size](https://image.ibb.co/ggSn8V/IMG-0469.jpg)]

Keith almost chokes on his own breath and prays the steam coming off the pool will provide enough camouflage for what’s happening to him under the water. He can’t get out of the pool like this; then Lotor would _definitely_ see, and know, and—

“I owe you my life,” Lotor is saying, and he’s still touching Keith’s face, and Keith can only hope Lotor will keep looking deep into his eyes instead of downwards. “I shall never forget what you did for me on the steps of the Kral Zera.”

“It was nothing,” Keith tries, but Lotor places a finger gently against Keith’s lips.

“It was not nothing. _You_ are not nothing. You are a rare jewel in this universe, Keith.”

Keith attempts a laugh. “Moving on to first names, are we? That’s awfully familiar of you.”

Lotor drops his hands to his sides. Keith resists the urge to lean toward him. “You’re right, of course. I’m afraid I have behaved inappropriately. I apologize.”

“Wait, no—I was joking. You can call me Keith. It’s all right.”

“Keith,” Lotor says, and the way Lotor speaks his name sends a thrill through Keith. He tries not to think about what that means. “You may address me by my given name as well.”

“There, it’s settled…Lotor.” Keith grins at him. This mission is going to be _interesting_.

* * *

Keith heads back to his room, his aching muscles from the sparring match having vanished as if they were never there. He’s a little flustered, to be sure, but he supposes that’s to be expected when a tall, handsome emperor gets up close and personal with you when you’re both naked in what amounts to a hot tub. Could have happened to anyone, he reassures himself.

He’s exhausted and in desperate need of a good night’s sleep before they head to Earth in the morning. So it’s a shame that he lies awake for a solid varga, tossing and turning and winding himself by accident into quite the knot of sheets. Grumbling, he untangles himself, and shoves the sheets to the foot of his bed. He’s too warm anyway, and he can’t stop thinking of the way Lotor towered over him in the pool, yet touched him so gently. A strange thrumming energy had set in when Lotor’s hand made contact with Keith’s skin, and it hasn’t dissipated yet. If only Lotor had come closer, crowded him up against the wall of the pool, or even discovered the secret of Keith’s response to Lotor’s proximity…

He’s got to do something to burn off this train of thought. Maybe if he lets his imagination take it and run, he can find a satisfying endpoint and clear his mind. Or maybe that won’t work at all and he’ll just entrench himself further into this confusing array of emotions. But it’s worth a shot. He lays one hand on his stomach and curls his fingers, scratching his nails through the dark hair trailing downward.

What would it even be like? He knows little of Galra habits in general, and none at all regarding sex. It’s not like _that_ has come up back at the Blades’ headquarters. His face is hot, but he has to laugh, picturing Kolivan’s expression if Keith were to try bringing up the subject. Unless he feels like digging information out of Lotor, Keith doesn’t think he’s going to find out anytime soon. And he is _not_ going to ask Lotor.

The possibilities seem endless. Lotor clearly loves taking charge—perhaps he’d be the same with Keith, ordering him into whatever positions Lotor likes best. Or it could be that Lotor’s the kind of man who needs a break from reality now and then. He could just as easily want Keith to put him on his hands and knees and take him roughly; drive him out of his head to some other plane of existence. Keith’s not picky. Hell, if Lotor just wanted to pull Keith’s hair a little and come in his mouth, Keith would go for that too.

He slides his hand downward, cupping himself through the soft fabric of the pajama pants they’d left him—there’s already a wet patch at the head of his dick. This was not in the plan and he knows it. And it’s not going to _be_ in the plan. It doesn’t matter if he’s gone and gotten himself worked up over the fucking emperor of the Galra Empire. Everything he’s thinking is going to stay right here in this room. Just him and his hand down his pants, pushing his fingers under the waistband of his underwear. This isn’t even that unusual; he’s fantasized about weirder scenarios than an incredibly tall alien guy with an absolutely devastating shoulder-to-waist ratio coming into his room in the middle of the night to pin him down and inhale the scent of him, sink teeth into his shoulder and mark him, make him wet and frantic and—

Keith freezes. He hasn’t come yet. He’s not sure if he can now. His imagination’s gone running, all right—right over a fucking cliff.

* * *

Keith does not sleep well, so he forces himself to choke down the disgusting drink at breakfast that replaces perfectly normal, nice _coffee_ in this part of the universe. Then he dresses, packs the few belongings he’s brought with him, and heads to the hangar to meet Lotor.

Proximity, once again, is a problem. The ship they’re taking down to the surface of the Earth contains no wasted space, meaning that once Keith’s strapped in, only millimeters separate his body from Lotor’s. “Does this thing have A/C?” he mutters to no one in particular, hoping he won’t sweat through his Blade uniform on the trip.

“Has it got _what_?” Lotor asks, forehead wrinkling. And, god, that should not be as cute as it is. Lotor shouldn’t be pinging in Keith’s mind as _cute_ at all.

“You know, air conditioning or something like that? I’m kind of overheating.”

“It has something like that, yes.” Lotor flips a switch and turns a tiny dial, and the cockpit is flooded with cool air. “Better?”

“Yeah, thanks.” Keith fans himself with one hand. He’s never been this uncomfortably warm on a mission before. Probably it’s just nerves, or Lotor’s ridiculous level of body heat. The man is a space heater, in Keith’s opinion.

After a few wormhole jumps, they reach low Earth orbit and hold their position. Lotor’s communications department has been in contact with Earth for several weeks at this point, but Lotor has no intention of moving any lower until he personally confirms with the New International Space Station that their arrival is expected and that they won’t be shot down by overzealous missile fire.

With permission granted for their entry into American airspace, Lotor takes them down to the ground. “Eight doboshes to go,” he says. “Are you ready?”

It’s been two years since Iverson last saw Keith. And technically four years for Keith, what with those extra ones he’d crammed in with Krolia. He’s never going to be ready. “Sure am,” he lies anyway.

“You’re going to do wonderfully, Keith.”

It’s weird to have _Lotor_ of all people trying to be reassuring. Keith slumps lower in his seat and stares out the window to his right, hoping Lotor will take the hint and not push it.

Lotor takes the hint. They pass the remaining doboshes in silence.

Landing on Earth after this much time away feels exactly like landing on an alien world. With where Keith’s been, with what he’s seen, the celestial body on which he was born doesn’t feel so unique anymore. He has no family connections here, and his heart is tied up with five metal lions, their pilots, and his mother. It’s the grand-scale, planet-wide version of coming back to a childhood home and finding it smaller and less sentimental than you remembered. As they descend into the landing zone behind a high wall, even the sight of the Garrison campus doesn’t inspire much within him besides frustration and grief. He’s not sure he’ll ever forgive them for the ways they failed him. But he’s not here for vengeance—he’s here to advance the cause of universal peace. The rest is just junk from his memories. Inconsequential.

Keith pulls up his hood and activates the mask before the cockpit door slides open. “I don’t think they’re gonna be too happy to see me,” he explains, when Lotor starts to protest. “They already have to get used to _you_ showing up. Better to break my presence to them slowly.”

Lotor frowns. “Frankly, I cannot imagine what you could have done to warrant them being more upset over your arrival than mine.”

“That’s right.” Keith leaps down from the cockpit to the concrete. “You can’t imagine it.”

A line of stoic soldiers and Iverson are waiting for them a few meters away. Keith follows Lotor closely, just behind and to his right side, watching for any signs that the Garrison doesn’t care to play nice today. But Iverson’s stepping forward, holding out his hand, and Lotor meets him with a handshake. The two of them face off like oddly-polite and supremely territorial cats deciding whether or not it is necessary to scratch the living shit out of each other, but eventually they seem to each an accord.

“I would only request that your companion reveal his identity,” Iverson says

“I don’t know if—” Lotor begins, but Keith interrupts.

“Sure thing.” Keith shuts down the mask, pulls off his hood, and waits for recognition to set in.

It only takes a split second. “Kogane!” Iverson barks. “I don’t know what you’re doing with this emperor, but you for damn sure won’t be doing it on Garrison property! Hell, you’re already wanted on four counts of assault, not to mention kidnapping a Garrison pilot, interfering with an investigation, and compromising national security. If you think you get to add trespassing to the list, you—”

“Hold on a tick,” Lotor interrupts, and he steps a little closer to Keith, as though their roles have switched and he’s the one protecting Keith instead. “Surely an exception can be made, as he _is_ my bodyguard. Without him, I won’t be entering the Garrison.” Meaningfully, he pats the jeweled collar around his neck. “And I am certain that I would be able to compensate you for any damages sustained during his time with you.”

“Lo—Your Majesty.” Keith is guessing at the correct term of address. He probably should have asked beforehand, but anything’s gotta be better than calling Lotor by his first name in front of Garrison officers. “You don’t have to do that.”

“I will do what I like, Keith.” Lotor’s gaze is piercing, but Keith refuses to look away. “I want you at my side, and I am prepared to make a few concessions if it will help us come to an agreement.” He turns to the officers. “Keith has more than proven himself to his team, and to me. I swear to you that he will cause no problems. However, if money would ease the decision—”

Iverson waves him off. “No, no, that won’t be necessary.” It’s not surprising; Iverson’s too sharp to accept funds from an unfamiliar state. He glares at Keith. “If I hear one word of any trouble, you’re out of here. When you are not with the emperor, you will keep to your room and not go wandering around riling up the students. You’re something of a legend around here, and I do not mean that as a compliment.”

Lotor’s eyebrows have crept so far up his forehead that it looks almost painful. “Truly, you have no reason to worry,” he promises. “But if you could please direct us to our lodgings, we would like to refresh ourselves before further discussion.”

“Of course. Lieutenant Hamilton, please show our guests to their rooms. I’m sure you must be hungry—dinner will be served at 1800 hours. We will send someone to collect you.”

* * *

They’re shown to two adjacent rooms in the officers’ quarters, located in a wing far away from the dormitories. It appears the Garrison is serious about keeping the two of them away from any impressionable students.

As Keith reaches for the keypad on the door to his room, Lotor places a hand on his shoulder. “Keith, I am not certain that we are entirely welcome here.”

“We are definitely not entirely welcome,” Keith mutters. “That’s probably my fault. Sorry.”

“While I had no idea that you were so infamous, your previous…activities…are not my concern. I selected you for this mission and I stand by my choice. It is only that I would feel safer not to be alone when I am sleeping. Would you be so kind as to share my room with me?”

Keith shrugs. “Sure, whatever. I’m supposed to be guarding you anyway.”

The room is about as spartan as Keith remembers his own dorm being, although there’s a miniscule kitchenette tucked against one wall, and the bed looks slightly bigger. Speaking of which…

“Looks like there’s only one bed,” Keith says. “Guess they weren’t expecting us to stay in the same room.”

Lotor purses his lips. “Hmm.”

“Uh…” Keith had expected a bit more of a reaction than that. “So… I’m gonna go request another bed. A cot or something.”

“You won’t be too uncomfortable?”

Keith is still learning to read Lotor’s body language, so he’s sure he’s imagining the expression of faint disappointment on Lotor’s face. “Nah, I don’t mind. I got used to sleeping in flight seats—this is nothing.”

It doesn’t take long for Keith to get his hands on a cot, and once he has it set up, he flops down on his back, not even bothering to remove his shoes. Lotor squints at him. “Are you tired?”

“I was just testing out this mattress, but now that you mention it—” Keith yawns massively, realizing his body feels awfully heavy. “I could use a nap before we subject ourselves to Iverson again.”

“In that case, please do get some rest. I would not mind a brief respite myself.”

Lotor is one of those people who falls asleep as soon as they lay their head on a pillow, apparently, leaving Keith alone with his thoughts. And alone with the weird aching warmth in his belly that hasn’t let up since that moment in the pool. He holds perfectly still, keeping his eyes shut and his hands at his sides, and concentrates on trajectory calculations and takeoff routines until his brain shuts down.

In hindsight, it might have been better if he’d forced himself to stay awake, because he’s gifted with a vivid dream that does nothing but fray his sanity further.

_Keith is unable to remember Lotor rising from bed and crossing the room, but it’s not like it matters. Lotor’s here now, clawed fingers locked around Keith’s upper arms, pressing Keith into the mattress. “I cannot sleep when you smell like this,” Lotor growls. “The way your body cries out to me—begging to be fucked—”_

“ _No,” Keith protests. “That’s not what—that can’t be—” He struggles to swallow, his throat dry._

“ _No?” Abruptly, Lotor’s weight lifts off him; the emperor stands, leaving Keith panting on his cot. “Then I shall not touch you. Not unless you ask. But if you should ask, then I will do anything in my power to help you.” His eyes burn like blue stars. “Anything and everything, Keith.”_

Keith wakes to a bedroom silent but for Lotor’s slow and even breathing. The inside of his shorts feels sticky and warm, and he cringes at the sensation. The dream clings to the fringes of his memory. He knows now, without a doubt, that there will be no ridding himself of this bizarre desire. There’s nothing to do but try to push it out of his mind. It’s for the good of the mission, he tells himself. And when he returns to the Blade, everything can go back to normal.

Dinner is an unexciting affair, although delicious. They take their meal in the officers’ mess hall, Iverson and a small contingent of high-ranking Garrison staff in attendance as well. Lotor picks his way bravely through a three-course meal of a house salad, roast chicken, and a chocolate mousse cake. He seems to enjoy the chicken most of all, but the cake still leaves him appreciatively licking traces of chocolate off his lips, and Keith needs to stop watching that _right now_.

There’s also a decent amount of wine, which does a great deal to lighten the mood in the room, although Keith only swallows a few mouthfuls. He hasn’t forgotten his role of protector of the emperor, after all. Lotor, however…

Lotor is a lightweight. As they linger over dessert and conversation, Lotor’s voice increases every so slightly in volume, and he laughs at every possible opportunity. At some point, Keith makes a joke that makes everyone in the room roar with laughter, and Lotor’s hand lands on his thigh as if to pat him in appreciation. Except then he doesn’t take his hand away, just leaves it there, a distracting weight on Keith’s leg. At least everyone’s relaxed right now, and Keith won’t have to work too hard to keep things calm, even if Lotor continuing to touch him is doing little to keep _Keith_ calm.

* * *

Back at their room, Lotor tosses himself on his bed with a happy groan. “That was _fantastic_ ,” he exults. “The fact that humans eat bowlfuls of leaves is a bit strange, but the way you season your meat? _Incredible_. What did you say it was again? Some sort of… flying creature?”

“It was chicken, and yes, that’s a kind of bird.”

“ _Fascinating_. I should like to hunt a chicken one day.”

“You don’t really have to hunt—you know what, never mind. Live your dream, Lotor.” Keith doesn’t have enough powers of concentration left to explain it to Lotor. He knows he’s not drunk—it’s not physically possible. Yet his body is is flooded with warmth, and all he can think of is how he longs to feel bare skin against his own. He lies down in his own bed—far, far away from Lotor, which is appropriate and correct—and tucks himself in, hoping the sheets will hide the way he’s trembling all over.

He doesn’t have to hide anything for long. “Mmm,” Lotor hums. “Dreams. Dreams sound lovely, don’t you think?” He pulls a blanket all the way up to his nose and closes his eyes.

“…Lotor?” But Lotor’s already out. And lying awake thinking of math isn’t gonna work this time, Keith can guarantee that. He chews at his lip, wondering if he dares…

And slides a hand under his blanket. He shoves the waistband of his shorts down around his hips, sighing as he frees himself. He can be quiet. He’s _got_ to be quiet. Keith would never term himself a professional when it comes to things like intergalactic diplomacy, but he’s certain of at least one thing: under no circumstances do you get caught jerking off while your charge is sleeping across the room from you. He presses one hand over his mouth to prevent any wayward noises from slipping out, and wraps the other hand around himself. At first he tries to take care of it quickly, but the sound is so loud, and the cot starts creaking, and—that is not a viable option.

Slow and quiet is harder, but he’ll have to make it work. He strokes fingertips over the head, and there’s already so much more wetness than he’s accustomed to, but it feels good, feels _amazing_. He gets himself so close to the edge, he can almost taste freedom—if he gets off once, maybe it’ll take his desperation down a few notches, and then he’ll be able to focus on the rest of the mission and deal with all of whatever _this_ is later.

But freedom eludes him; the peak is just out of his reach. Keith wonders if there’s anywhere in this wing of the Garrison he can go to just _scream_ for awhile, but he doesn’t recall the addition of a Screaming Room at any point during his time here. Probably not a priority. He resigns himself to sleeping in damp shorts.

* * *

Breakfast the next morning is entertaining for Lotor, who got just the right amount of beauty sleep, and hellish for Keith, who did not. “You sure are bright-eyed and bushy-tailed,” Keith grumbles at Lotor as they follow a junior officer to the mess hall once more.

“I thank you for the compliment about my eyes,” Lotor says, “but I am afraid I do not follow the rest. You are aware I do not have a tail, are you not?”

“It’s just an expression. It means you have a lot of energy.”

“But of course—I slept wonderfully!” Lotor chirps. “I trust you did the same?”

“Sure,” Keith lies, already preparing himself to grit his teeth through another meal with Iverson followed by the first of several diplomatic meetings.

The coffee is black, strong, and just what Keith needs. He hasn’t had actual coffee in years at this point—just various kinds of variously-flavored alien beverages that have roughly the same physical effects, but with interesting side effects, such as the time his skin turned faintly blue for a week.

Along with the multitude of other new experiences, this is Lotor’s first time drinking coffee. His eyes widen as he takes a sip of the steaming liquid, and he nearly chokes. “ _Keith_ ,” he whispers urgently. “How are you drinking this? It’s _foul!_ Are you _certain_ it is not poisoned?”

“It’s not poisoned. It’s supposed to taste like that.” Keith takes Lotor’s coffee mug, adds a generous amount of sugar and cream, and hands it back. “See if that’s any better.”

This time, Lotor’s expression does not foreshadow a choking episode. “Well, at least it is palatable now. But you told me you drink it to wake up—why would you need to do that if you slept enough?”

“Habit, I guess,” Keith half-explains, leaving out the part where he absolutely did not get enough sleep the night before.

The meeting isn’t any better. Keith sits at Lotor’s side, making his own comments whenever he’s got something to add, but as time passes, he gets quieter. His bodysuit feels too tight, and the air in the room is warm and stuffy. He wishes they’d open a window or something. Lotor keeps glancing at him, and around the time Keith is tugging at his collar and trying to sneakily fan himself with a handout, Lotor taps his arm.

“Are you all right?” Lotor murmurs.

Keith twitches away from Lotor’s hand. “Yep, just—just warm.”

“Meet me at our room when we are done here.”

“Giving me orders now?” Keith snarks, even though Iverson is frowning at them, probably wishing they’d both shut up.

“Of course not. I shall explain after this is over. Just come to the room, please?”

“If you say so.” Keith busies himself straightening the papers on the table in front of them. A small, enclosed space is the last place he feels like being with Lotor right now.

* * *

Back at the room, Lotor locks the door behind them, then faces Keith. “You have been acting strange, and I am simply worried about you,” Lotor explains bluntly. “Nothing more to it.”

Keith wants to deny it, but he can’t very well conceal the fact that he’s been on the edge of jumping out of his skin for several days now. “I don’t understand what’s _wrong_ with me!” Keith bursts out. “I don’t even want to tell you what’s going on, because it’s embarrassing as hell, and I don’t think I’m sick exactly, but something is not _normal_ , Lotor.”

“I may have some idea. And Keith, I am so sorry. If I had anticipated that this could happen, I would never have brought you with me.”

“What is it? Please, if you know, you gotta tell me. I feel like I’m going crazy.”

“If I am right, then I can assure you that you are perfectly safe. May I..?” Lotor stretches a hand out toward Keith, who realizes Lotor’s asking if he can touch Keith.

“Go ahead,” Keith says.

Lotor gets so close that he’s almost pressing his whole body up against Keith’s, and when he puts his hand around the back of Keith’s neck, the contact is like balm to a burn. Lotor bends his head low to nuzzle at Keith’s throat, his mouth hot and damp against Keith’s skin, and Keith can’t help the little sigh that escapes his lips. “It is as I suspected,” Lotor breathes. “You have become _envrax_.”

The word doesn’t sink in for a moment. _Envrax_. Sure. Whatever. Keith just needs Lotor to keep doing what he’s doing with his mouth, even though the touch is so slight that Lotor is basically aiming a squirt gun at a forest fire at this rate. “Wait,” Keith says, when he gets his brain back online enough to question it. “What’s that mean?”

“I do not know the Earth term for it,” Lotor tells him. He’s scratching his nails— _claws_ , Keith realizes with a start, Lotor has let his claws appear and he’s scratching them through the short hair at the base of Keith’s skull, and Keith wants to melt into a puddle and start purring. Or… something. “It is a normal feature of Galran biology, nothing dangerous. Most of us experience phases where we begin to feel an intense need for… well…”

“Don’t get all shy on me when you’re kissing my neck,” Keith says. “It’s _weird_.”

Lotor brings his teeth into the mix, dragging a hint of fangs over Keith’s pulse. “On the contrary, I am not shy at all. I am not ashamed of it, Keith. And neither should you be; I simply feared causing you discomfort since the topic is of such a delicate nature. Right now, you are experiencing a powerful craving to be… taken, are you not?”

“Ngh,” Keith says, because the teeth on his neck are making him lose his train of thought and he should _not_ be blamed for it. “Stop it with the euphemisms. You’re saying I wanna get fucked, right?”

“Well, yes, but—”

“But you were trying to be _delicate_ about it.”

“…Yes.”

“I’m not delicate, Lotor. And yeah, okay, I wanna get fucked, but you still haven’t explained _why_ this is happening to me.”

“The state of _envrax_ can be triggered by close contact with a… compatible individual. My guess is that you were already on the verge of it, and circumstances worked to send you into a full-blown episode.”

“Compatible…” Keith frowns. “Who, _you_?”

“I am not implying we are anything like soulmates,” Lotor hurries to clarify. “Just that for some reason, you seem to have responded to my presence. As I said, if I had realized it was possible, I would never have put you in this position. My deepest apologies.”

“I mean, I’ll live, right? It’s just really, _really_ uncomfortable. How long is this gonna last?”

“A quintant, more or less.”

“This _mission_ is supposed to last a quintant. And I can barely fucking focus at this point. Maybe I should just stay in the room, while you do your stuff.”

“I hate to think of you suffering alone that way.”

“Doesn’t seem like there’s another option.”

“There is another option that would soothe your mind and body, if you were amenable to it. But I do not wish to take advantage—”

“Lotor,” Keith interrupts. “Just get to the point. If you’re offering to fuck me, I am _so amenable_. Listen, my options here are the suffering-alone thing or getting laid by a really hot emperor. First one is not awesome. Second one—high chance of being awesome, unless you’re really bad at sex or something.”

Lotor’s eyes widen just a fraction. “Are you saying you would like to be the judge of that?” His fingers tighten in Keith’s hair, pulling rather than petting, and as he does so, the energy in the room shifts.

The fire in Keith becomes an inferno, consuming his whole being; and he needs this, he needs everything Lotor can do for him, because _only_ Lotor can do it. And the thing is—the reason he’s not bolting out of the room and demanding immediate transport back to the Blades—is that it’s more than needing, more than the full-body ache to get Lotor on him and inside him. Keith is not so overcome that he can’t discern his own feelings, and what he feels is _want_. Lotor is offering himself to Keith, with no apparent motive other than to give him pleasure and calm his desire, and damn if that’s not hot. “I’m saying—” and Keith puts his arms around Lotor’s waist, pressing close to his body— “that if you’re amenable to it, I would _like_ you to fuck me. _Not delicately_.”

Lotor’s voice is so low, it’s almost a growl. “Far be it from me to deny your request, my dear.”

He walks Keith backward, pushing him toward the bed. And Keith doesn’t fight it; just lets his body relax in Lotor’s grasp. Lets Lotor put him on his back and pin him to the gloriously soft bed—so much more comfortable than the little cot. The sheets are cool against his skin, and butter-soft, and a feeling like warm honey seeps into his muscles. Lotor’s here. Lotor will take care of him. Keith doesn’t have to worry about a thing.

“Oh, Keith,” Lotor murmurs. “What a marvelous thing you are.” He slides his palms up Keith’s chest, pausing to thumb at Keith’s nipples until they harden under the thin fabric of his bodysuit.

Keith arches into his touch, whimpering. God, he can’t even hold back the sounds now, he’s so far gone. “ _Ple-ease_ ,” he chokes out, desperate to make Lotor do something, _anything_ , to relieve the cavernous ache inside him.

“Shh, now. I’m going to help you.” Slowly, gently, Lotor unfastens the tiny clasps and zippers hidden in the seams of Keith’s clothing until he can peel the suit off entirely.

It’s a relief to feel the air against his burning body. Keith can’t be bothered with shyness or shame—he sprawls happily on the bed while Lotor’s gaze rakes up and down him, lingering between Keith’s legs where he’s hard and dripping.

“Look at you,” Lotor breathes, reverent.

Keith looks. His skin is flushed and gleaming with sweat. His ribcage heaves with every breath. His belly is already slick with precome, and he can’t help rocking his hips up, hoping to tempt Lotor into action. Vaguely, he thinks the Keith of last week would be embarrassed about this—the mess, the begging, all of it. But that was another time and does not matter now.

Lotor settles himself with one knee on either side of Keith’s legs, effectively trapping Keith, but it’s not as if he wanted to go anywhere else. “All right. Show me.” He pushes gently at Keith’s hip. “I know you want to, so turn over, and let me see.”

Keith does as he’s told, shifting onto his stomach. He lets his thighs fall open, and immediately Lotor’s hands are on his ass, spreading Keith apart and putting him on display. Lotor takes his sweet time checking him out, and Keith can hardly bear the scrutiny.

Then fingers pet circles around Keith’s rim, just lightly, and Keith lets out a shocked moan into the sheets. “Ah, here’s the problem,” Lotor whispers. “Such a small part of you, and yet so troublesome, I know. What would you like, my dear? Fingers, mouth? You may have my cock if you want. Just tell me, and whatever you ask shall be yours.”

“ _Ahh_ —f—fingers,” Keith gets out. “Please…” Lotor increases the pressure against his hole, one fingertip dipping into the tight muscle, and Keith almost sobs in relief. It’s so much better than he’d even imagined, so much better than his futile attempts to alleviate the needs of his body.

“There you go. Relax, darling. Let me in.”

Keith realizes that he feels strangely slick inside, only he never caught sight of Lotor opening lube or anything. “What—” He tries to crane his head to look behind himself, but just then Lotor decides to shove his finger all the way in, and Keith is too busy howling at the sparks flying up his spine to keep asking.

“There you go, sweetheart. Heavens, you take me beautifully. Already soaking wet and desperate for me.”

“ _Wet_?” Keith gasps. “Huh?”

“Of course. You are Galra, after all,” Lotor says, as if that’s enough of an explanation. He’s _rubbing_ something inside Keith, a place that makes him moan and squirm, unable to hold still. But Lotor puts one huge hand in the small of Keith’s back and makes certain that he cannot move. “Would you like more?” Lotor asks, as he teases another finger against Keith.

“Yes, I just—I don’t _understand_.” Keith wonders exactly how many new things about his physiology he’s going to learn in one day.

Lotor eases a second finger into him, but he lets up on the maddening pressure against _whatever_ spot he’d found, which allows Keith to recover at least a few of his wits. “Your body, when it needs this, well… it does everything it can to, ahh, ease the way. To put it tactfully.”

“And I get wet.”

“And you get wet, yes. It happens to all of us. Does it feel unpleasant? Perhaps I can—”

“No, it’s fi— _ah_ —fine. Don’t, mm, please don’t stop—” Keith is completely aware that he’s begging, practically throwing himself at Lotor in his frenzy to quench the fire inside him, but it’s as though he’s run out of space in himself for shame. Who needs shame when there are long, slender, clever fingers touching all the right places?

“I shall not stop,” Lotor promises. “I want to give you what you so badly crave. I want to see you come for me, Keith.”

Keith grips the sheets as if he’s clinging to a cliff and pushes up to his hands and knees. He rocks back on Lotor’s fingers, wild and wanton, chasing the breaking point, so close he’s almost—almost—“Lotor,” he moans, “I’m, oh _fuck_ I’m gonna—” His words shatter into a low scream before he can finish.

In silent answer, Lotor wraps one arm under Keith, around his thighs, keeping him in place. He thrusts in faster, relentless as Keith shakes beneath him, as his muscles turn liquid and he almost falls forward—but Lotor is holding him up, holding him still to be fucked as deep and hard as Lotor pleases, and all Keith can do is take it and take it until he comes with a shout.

Lotor starts to pull out, but Keith gasps, “Wait—could you—” He still needs _something_ , a sensation he cannot name. “Just… not yet.”

“You want me to stay inside you?”

Keith shivers at the question. “Yes,” he whispers.

Lotor lowers Keith to the bed, mindful of the damp spot. Then he lies down beside Keith, the length of his body lined up against Keith’s back, his fingers still tucked deep inside and his palm cupping Keith’s ass. “You did so well, Keith,” he murmurs. “Is it any better now??”

Keith has rarely felt so safe as he does now, with an alien emperor a full head taller than him pressing open-mouthed kisses to the nape of his neck and keeping him stretched open and full. He takes a quick inventory. Mind: clear. Heart rate: decreasing. Temperature: cooling. Unshakeable desire to get fucked hard: he has to put a pin in that one, he supposes; the need has calmed down, but it is very much still present. But he can probably cope with it now. “A lot better, actually,” he answers. “Thank you.”

“Then I am glad I could help you. Please do not hesitate to come to me again, if the need arises.”

“Sure thing.” Keith yawns, nestling further into the sheets. Lotor laughs softly, and Keith feels a blanket being pulled over him. He is warm, and comfortable, and—well, that is definitely Lotor’s dick poking his backside. Keith points indecorously over his shoulder. “Hey, should I…”

Lotor pats his bare arm. “Perhaps some other time. You are exhausted, are you not?”

Keith’s cot seems so far away, and all of a sudden he realizes his complete inability to move. Overcome with drowsiness, he does not want to leave this soft bed that smells so comforting now. “Sorry,” he mumbles.

“Whatever are you apologizing for?”

“Don’t think I can get up.”

“You should stay here, then. Stay, and rest.”

“Are you gonna sleep somewhere else?” The very idea makes Keith’s insides feel like a sickening sort of jelly; but he would understand, he would be okay, he—

“Would you prefer that I do?”

Keith feels his cheeks flush. He doesn’t want to answer that. It’s no one’s business if he’s turned clingy and needy all of a sudden. It will pass.

“Ahh,” Lotor says, in far too understanding a tone; Keith cringes at it. “Of course I shall not leave you, Keith.”

“Whatever,” Keith mutters. He shuts his eyes, resolutely ignoring his relief at Lotor’s promise.

* * *

[[full size](https://image.ibb.co/cFeOhq/IMG-0470.jpg)]

Keith wakes to Lotor snuggling up close—actually _snuggling_ , for crying out loud—and feeling more like himself than he has since this weird shit began. Yawning, he begins disentangling himself from Lotor, who has an arm around Keith’s chest and a thigh between his legs and is for some reason holding one of Keith’s hands. All of Keith’s wriggling makes Lotor shift and grumble in his sleep. Keith elbows him in the side. “Time for breakfast, your Highness.”

“It is not necessary for you to call me—” Lotor drags his eyes open and catches sight of Keith’s grin. “I see. You are making a joke.”

“You bet. This is hilarious, you gotta admit.”

“In what way?”

Distractingly, Lotor’s hand has wound up in Keith’s hair, petting and tugging the messy strands. Keith tries to focus. “Uh… My body went all haywire, and I had to fuck royalty to get it to chill out. You don’t think that’s funny?”

“I take you very seriously, Keith.”

“Oh,” Keith says. Lotor is now petting the lines of his collarbones. And is _smiling_ at him. “Um. All right, then.” Then his stomach growls, and he laughs, a little shy now, which is weird because he sure wasn’t shy with Lotor’s fingers in his ass last night. _Get ahold of yourself_ , he thinks. It’s not a big deal, least of all to Lotor. “So… breakfast?” he suggests again.

Lotor wrinkles his nose. “Only if you do not offer me that disgusting _fluid_ you seem to think is a gift from the gods.”

“What are you… Do you mean coffee?”

Lotor shudders.

“Okay, okay. You got a deal. I hereby vow to protect you from coffee.”

After breakfast, there’s yet another meeting to endure as they begin discussion of what a treaty between Earth and the Empire might entail. Keith survives it just fine, thanks to Lotor’s… attentions, the night before. But by the time they wrap it up for the day, Keith’s skin is crawling again.

In the corridor, when the others’ attention has turned elsewhere, Lotor grabs Keith’s arm and pulls him into a deserted hallway. Keith gasps at the contact, Lotor’s touch fizzing and sparking along his nerves. “Do you need to work off some excess energy?” Lotor whispers. “Is that why you were practically squirming in your chair by the end of the meeting?”

Keith’s stomach twists at the thought of making himself so vulnerable to Lotor again—he’ll have to be in a much worse state before he can bear it. “If you’re asking me to go back to the room with you,” he huffs, “the answer is no. I’m not quite that desperate yet.”

“I was thinking you could show me _your_ training room, actually.”

“Oh. Sure. Uh, it looks a lot like yours, I guess. Less… fancy.”

“I’m sure it will suffice,” Lotor tells him, as if in consolation.

Keith barely holds back from rolling his eyes.

* * *

Thankfully, the training room is completely deserted when they arrive. Keith couldn’t stand too many eyes on him right now—Lotor looking at him is bad enough. He’s warm, flushed, and sweating again, and there’s a dampness in his underwear he’s not ready to think about just yet. But all signs point to his…condition…picking up steam again.

It doesn’t help that Lotor keeps looking Keith up and down after he changes. “What?” Keith asks, tugging on the hem of his shirt. “Is there something on my clothes?”

“Nothing of the sort. You look lovely.”

“It’s just sweatpants and a t-shirt!”

“Your Earth fashions are utterly splendid,” Lotor murmurs, and Keith resigns himself to Lotor thinking every little thing he does is hot.

Sparring with Lotor is different this time. They’re less cautious with each other now, and it takes all of Keith’s skill just to stay on his feet. He can barely find an opening to grab Lotor, let alone get him on the ground.

Lotor grins at him, panting. “You are no longer holding back. I like it.”

“Neither are you. You were going easy on me on your ship!” Keith accuses. He lunges at Lotor, but his angle is a little off, and for the first time, Lotor slams him to the mats.

“Distracted?” Lotor asks.

Lotor is sitting on Keith’s hips and pinning Keith’s wrists at his sides— _distracted_ is an understatement. Keith twists his body hard, but Lotor’s got him locked down. “Fuck,” he mutters. “No. I don’t know.” He feels like he’s about to burst into flames everywhere Lotor’s body touches his.

Lotor shoves his knee between Keith’s legs, until Keith hisses at the pressure. “What about now?” Lotor whispers, as Keith bites his lip and tries not to rub himself against Lotor’s thigh. “Yield, darling.”

“Fuck you,” Keith spits.

“That sounds like an absolutely _lovely_ idea,” Lotor murmurs low in Keith’s ear. “But I think you would have a better time of it if _I_ were to fuck _you_.” He kisses Keith’s throat, right below his jawline, nipping and sucking until Keith swears he feels the skin bruise.

Keith tries again to flip them. Lotor just bites him harder.

“Now, now,” Lotor admonishes. “ _You_ are staying put. Are you ready to yield to me?”

The scent pouring off Lotor has all of Keith’s nerves on edge. He’s aching inside, craving the stretch and slide of Lotor’s fingers, or his—

“Keith,” Lotor says, voice suddenly soft. “Are you all right?” Even though Keith hasn’t tapped out yet, Lotor rolls sideways, taking all his weight off Keith’s body.

Keith wants him to come back. “Yeah,” he says. He doesn’t get to his feet. “Fine. I’m fine.”

Lotor trails a fingertip down Keith’s cheek. “You are trembling.”

“I’m—I don’t—” Keith clamps his eyes shut. How is he supposed to ask? He barely knows what he’s trying to ask _for._ Barely understands his insatiable craving for Lotor to surround him, penetrate him, _claim him_. Keith does not want to be owned, but still he shivers with the need to belong to someone, if only temporarily. He touches the bite on his neck, pressing his fingers into the sore place, gasping as the pain flares.

“Keith,” Lotor repeats. “Do you need to be fucked again?”

It’s so straightforward when Lotor says it like that, but it’s enough to set Keith at the verge of flashpoint. The word is caught in his throat, but he forces it out of his mouth anyway, almost choking on it: “Yes.”

“Do you want me to fuck you?” Lotor covers Keith’s hand on his neck with his own and squeezes Keith’s fingers.

Keith clings to Lotor’s hand, hating his desperation, hating how obvious he is, sweating and squirming on the floor like this. But it’s not like anyone else is offering, and last night was— _good_ , so incredibly good, and here Lotor is offering him more of the same. “Please,” Keith whispers.

“Why don’t we go back to the room?” Lotor suggests.

Keith can see the logic in taking their plans somewhere more private, even if all he wants right now is for Lotor to turn him over, take Keith’s pants down, and fuck him open on his cock. As he isn’t terribly interested in getting thrown out of the Garrison a second time, he grudgingly agrees.

* * *

In the training room, Lotor had seemed to understand the urgency of Keith’s situation. Yet once in their quarters, he lays Keith down on the bed on his back and kneels between Keith’s open legs to kiss and bite the inside of Keith’s thighs, as if Keith is a delectable appetizer rather than the main _fucking_ course. Keith, leaking slick all over the clean sheets and about ready to burn up into ash, has half a mind to grab Lotor’s hair and put his mouth somewhere else. But all his complaints come out as stifled moans and whimpers, so Lotor gets to nibble on him as long as he wants.

One of Keith’s wretched, embarrassing noises must sound particularly heartfelt, though, because Lotor finally takes his mouth off the crease of Keith’s thigh and looks up at him. “I have you,” he reminds Keith. “Be patient, lovely.”

“I can’t, I _can’t_ ,” Keith gasps, finding his tongue. “Please, I need more, please fuck me.”

Lotor surges up to kiss him, for thefirst time on the mouth. “How shall I fuck you?” he asks, in between bites to Keith’s lower lip. “Tell me, sweetheart.”

Need battles shame and wins handily. “I need your cock,” Keith begs, savoring the flush that steals over Lotor’s cheeks. At least Keith’s not the only one about to lose his fucking mind here.

“Then you shall have it,” Lotor growls, and finally, finally he’s turning Keith onto his stomach, finally he’s hooking his fingers in Keith’s waistband and pulling his sweatpants down to his knees, finally he’s pulling Keith apart and looking at him where he’s wet and wanting. Apparently, he finds Keith far gone past ready, for the next thing Keith feels is the tapered head of Lotor’s cock breeching him. He hasn’t yet gotten a good look at what Lotor has going on down there, so he lets out a shocked whimper when the first ridge enters him. Ridges. Okay. He’s taking an alien dick; there are bound to be some surprises.

Lotor is pushing in slowly but without pause, each ridge stretching Keith wider before popping inside. Every time, he gets thicker, until Keith is opened up around the fat base of Lotor’s cock, hardly able to breathe. “Stars above,” Lotor whispers. “You look so—” But he loses the rest of his words to a sigh, as he draws himself out of Keith. He starts to fuck Keith in earnest, the ridges dragging along Keith’s walls, until he angles down slightly and hits a place that makes Keith scream into the pillow. He stops there, grinding against it as Keith writhes under him. “Is that it?” he asks softly. “Is that the spot, darling?”

Keith is a white-hot star, blazing in the void of space. He reaches out, grasping for the fragments of his mind, and pulls himself back down to reality. “There,” he pants. “There, there, _oh_ fuck, more, _nngh_ —”

Lotor’s breathing comes rough as whitewater. “You want more?”

“Fuck, please, I need it—”

“I can give you more.” Lotor rubs one hand up and down Keith’s spine, petting and calming him. “I shall give you all that you need.”

“I need _everything_.” Is he being clear enough? Is Lotor understanding? Keith swallows, his mouth dry around his gasps for air. “All of you, Lotor. I—I want you to come in me.”

Lotor stills, buried deep. “Keith…”

Shit, _shit_ , he’s said something wrong. Keith struggles to clear his mind, trying to comprehend where he took a misstep. “I’m sorry, you don’t have to,” he says in a rush. “If you don’t want to. It’s okay.”

“No, beautiful.” Lotor lays a line of kisses along Keith’s back, the hot press of his lips lighting tiny fires. “No, I want to, but I have not explained to you what would happen if I did.”

“Then tell me!” Keith cries. “Tell me and let me decide. I’m not—ah—fucking _fragile!_ ”

The kisses turn to little bites. Lotor rolls his hips once, languid and powerful. “Of course not. I would never think it.” He takes a deep breath and lets it out in a shuddering sigh. “If I come inside you, I will not be able to pull out of you for a little while afterward. I will grow much… larger, here.” He rubs his thumb gently over Keith’s rim, making him whimper. “We would be locked together until that ended, and I fear I would cause you pain, or that you would be distressed.”

“Last night,” Keith says. “You were fucking me, and I came, and I didn’t _want_ you to pull out. I wanted to sleep with you in me.”

“Mm. I remember.”

“So maybe—maybe this is what I really need. I think it is. I want to try.”

“If you want to, then I will do it,” Lotor whispers. “I will do everything you ask of me.”

“Then fuck me,” Keith grits out. He pushes back against Lotor, moaning as he takes Lotor even deeper. “Fuck me, come in me, let me feel what it’s like.”

“It will not be long,” Lotor says, and Keith notes the strained quality of his voice. “In all honesty, I am—very close already.”

Keith grips the sheets in both fists and presses his forehead into the pillow. “I want it,” he pleads again. “Please, please—”

“You have me.” Lotor grabs Keith’s hips, pinning him down, and fucks in hard. “You have all of me, as long as you want me.”

It’s just like before, when Keith allowed himself to let go; allowed Lotor to touch and fuck and use him as he pleased. Only this time, there’s something else building between them. Lotor’s cock is swelling thicker at the base, and Keith has never been filled so full or pushed so close to his limit. Somehow, he manages it. Somehow, he opens to Lotor, his body yielding to the impossible girth. He holds Lotor’s cock inside himself, and when Lotor comes, Keith loves the heat of it in his belly. There is nothing else like this and no one else like Lotor in this universe. He’s lucky, Keith thinks, to have found all this when he never even knew it existed.

He comes, and it’s almost an afterthought, counterpointto the tidal wave of sensations and emotions he can’t begin to describe. But it’s a relief, to feel himself break and spill and melt into bonelessness. He’d needed this, and Lotor had known how to provide it for him.

When Keith’s mind decides to function again, he becomes aware that Lotor is kissing his shoulder and murmuring sweet little pet names against his skin. Lotor seems to have a fondness for that. Keith can’t say as he minds.

“Welcome back,” Lotor says. “How are you feeling?”

“Good. Tired. I could sleep.” Keith is yawning before he even finishes his sentence.

“You are not hurt anywhere?”

Keith shifts a little, considering. Lotor is—definitely very, very big. “It doesn’t hurt,” Keith answers. “You aren’t hurting me.”

Lotor breathes out a long sigh. “Thank the heavens,” he says. “I would not wish to harm you.”

Keith’s stomach flips, and it has nothing to do with the giant fucking dick in his ass. “I know you wouldn’t.”

“I only want to give you pleasure. I find myself distracted by you, Keith.”

“Distracted,” Keith says. “Heh. That’s one word for it.”

“There are other words.” Gently, Lotor turns them onto their sides, so that once again, he’s spooning Keith. Keith’s not used to feeling small and protected, but Lotor makes it feel pretty damn good. “There are many other words, in fact, but I do not know if you would wish to hear them.”

“You’re doing that delicate talk thing again,” Keith points out. “But I’m literally about to fall asleep here. Can we take a nap? Talk later? I’m—I would be okay hearing them, maybe. Some of them. We could try.”

“Whatever you want,” Lotor says, pulling Keith against his chest. “Whatever makes you happy.”

Lying like this, Keith can hear Lotor’s heart. It beats a strange rhythm, but a comforting one. “I’m happy right now,” he murmurs, and he thinks he feels Lotor smile into his shoulder as he drifts off.

* * *

Keith wakes up with aching muscles and a displeasing sort of sticky feeling all over. He groans and rolls away from Lotor, intending to sneak off to clean up before Lotor catches sight of what a wreck he is, but gentle fingers on his wrist stop him.

“Keith,” Lotor murmurs, foggy from sleep. “Could you stay a little longer?”

Keith tries to laugh it off. “You sure about that? I’m kind of disgusting at the moment.”

“I must disagree. I would like nothing more than to have you in my arms again.”

It punches Keith’s breath out of him. “When you say things like that, I—I don’t—” He doesn’t know what to do with himself, what to say, how to react. He freezes up, caught in something like pleasure and terror at once. And he can’t explain any of it.

“Please remember that there is no contract between you and I.” Impossibly, Lotor’s tone is even softer. “I shall not lie to you about what is in my heart, but you have no obligation to me. You can do as you wish. Always.”

Keith swallows past the tightness in his throat. “Right now I just wish for a shower,” he mutters.

“Will you let me care for you?”

Keith could say no. He could put his walls back up, and they would go back to how it was before. Lotor wouldn’t press him on the matter. The strange feverish cravings seem to be out of his system now, so there’s nothing else Keith needs from Lotor.

Still, though. What Lotor’s offering sounds…nice.

“I guess you can come with me,” he tells Lotor, who brightens immediately. It’s kind of cute, even on an imposing alien who’s like seven feet tall or something. Keith bites his lip—no need to get caught _smiling_ about it.

(In the shower, Lotor turns Keith to face away from him, pushing him up against the wall with a hand between his shoulderblades. The water’s hot, wrapping them in clouds of steam and turning Keith’s skin pink, but it’s nothing compared to the decadent stretch of Lotor’s fingers inside him. Keith presses his cheek to the tile, wet mouth wide and gasping, as Lotor carefully works him open once again and washes him clean of sweat and come. Lotor touches him like he’s rare and precious, and Keith knows it’s long past time to talk about this.)

* * *

That night, Keith gets settled down in his cot, since there’s no _reason_ for him to be in Lotor’s bed again, and Lotor says nothing of it. “Lights off,” Keith tells the AI, and the room goes dark but for the moonlight streaming through the window.

Keith is not “envrax” or whatever anymore. Hasn’t been all day. It’s over now, as far as he can tell, but he’s still tossing and turning under his blanket, hyperaware of Lotor’s breathing across the room.

“Keith,” Lotor whispers. “Are you unable to sleep?”

“…No. Too much on my mind, I guess.”

“It eludes me as well.” There’s silence for a moment, and then Keith hears the rustle of sheets. “There is still room for you here, if you wish.”

Keith shudders, and it has nothing to do with wanting Lotor to fuck him. That’s not even on his mind right now. His heart flutters like a trapped butterfly searching for its freedom. Lotor has made room for him all week. Lotor wants to care for him in more ways than one. And trying to think about it feels like Keith is slamming his whole body into a high stone wall. So he doesn’t think, and he doesn’t speak. He just gets up and gets into Lotor’s bed, his back to Lotor’s chest. To the long list of things Keith isn’t thinking about, he adds how easy it is to lie with Lotor like this.

“Tomorrow I am to sign the treaty and take another step on the path to an era of peace.” Lotor’s hand is in Keith’s hair, fingers carding through the strands, nails scratching lightly behind his ear and down the back of his neck. “After which it will be time for us to depart. I must admit I am sorry to leave. Your home is beautiful, Keith. And…”

“What?” Keith asks, when Lotor doesn’t continue.

“If I am not out of line to say so, I feel as though I have grown closer to you during our journey. I shall miss your company when all this ends.”

It’s a good thing Keith isn’t facing Lotor right now, because however Lotor is looking at him right now, Keith is positive he wouldn’t be able to stand it. He’s been hiding something from himself, and he knows it. He could murmur an unclear answer, pretend to fall asleep, keep the hidden thing small and never allow it to grow. But Lotor makes him want to let it bloom. And so, finally, he lets himself fall open, rolling over to meet Lotor’s gaze, though the words still aren’t easy and may never be. “I feel the same way. I’ll miss you when you go.”

“You could visit, if you wanted. You would always be welcome wherever I am. Including, ah…” Lotor clears his throat. There’s that flush again. “My own…time of need.”

“Your wh—oh. _Oh_.” The thought of it is almost enough to get Keith going all over again, but he tamps it down, wanting to focus on this conversation. “You’d want me there for that?”

“Certainly. If it pleased you.” Now Lotor’s the one having trouble looking Keith in the eye.

There’s something to be said for the thought of Lotor falling apart at Keith’s touch—his powerful body trembling; his voice breaking on desperate pleas. He’d spread his legs and let Keith see him wet and needy, and Keith would soothe him, hush him, give him everything he wanted. “I could do that,” Keith says. “Yeah, I could definitely… Just, get in touch, okay? Whenever you need me.”


End file.
